


no masters or kings

by wordslinging



Series: Tig and Scourge [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Consent Play, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's spent the past few days letting herself be ruled by those weaker than her, letting them push her into the roles of diplomat, figurehead, general, and hostage negotiator. Scourge intends to remind her that at her core she is none of those things; she's a force of nature, and no one masters her unless she allows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no masters or kings

**Author's Note:**

> So, for context, there is a longer story I'm working on in which Tiganus and Scourge embark on a quest to cure his immortality and end up catching feelings for each other in the process.
> 
> This...is not that story.
> 
> This is shamelessly self-indulgent consent play smut set somewhere in the continuity of that story.
> 
> Also its working title was "badly negotiated consent play with Tig and Scourge", in which "badly negotiated" basically means that they're both enthusiastic participants, but boundaries and limits aren't talked through beforehand.

It's been a difficult day. A difficult _week_ , piled on top of the fact that they're all still processing what happened on Yavin Four. Scourge knows that Tiganus wants one of two things right now--she wants to hole up in her quarters and meditate (not sulk, "I'm _not_ sulking, I'm a Jedi Master and that would be ridiculous"), or she wants to go out and comb the far reaches of the galaxy until they find a way to put an end to Vitiate once and for all.

Instead, she and an equally reluctant Master Shan were called back to Coruscant for a meaningless public ceremony--ostensibly to keep up Republic morale as the war drags on, in reality a play by Saresh to show that she can still make the Jedi heel on occasion, and for some reason Scourge can't fathom, they _let_ her. Then, while they were still lingering at some Senator's reception, Kira complaining that her feet hurt from standing for so long and Doc pointing out that _hey, at least the food's good_ \--they'd gotten word of a crisis on Balmorra that apparently required the newly appointed Battlemaster of the Order to handle it.

The Balmorra mission was hard on Tiganus, one of the ones where her stubborn insistence on saving as many lives as possible came up against the hard reality of the situation and it wasn't clear who would be forced to move first, Tig or the rest of the galaxy. Scourge has never stopped finding it irritating when she does that, although the specifics have shifted; where he used to oppose such foolhardy heroism simply on principle, now he hates seeing her throw herself against problems others create and expect her to solve, spend her strength on the welfare of a Republic that doesn't deserve to have her as its champion.

But he accepted long ago that Tig is going to be Tig, which means that Tig is currently brimming with frustration and restless energy and trying to calm herself with Jedi platitudes.

Scourge has a better idea. She's spent the past few days letting herself be ruled by those weaker than her, letting them push her into the roles of diplomat, figurehead, general, and hostage negotiator. Scourge intends to remind her that at her core she is none of those things; she's a force of nature, and no one masters her unless she allows it.

When he joins her in her quarters (still _her quarters_ in his mind despite the fact that these days he sleeps here far more often than he's ever slept in his own), she's shed everything but her leggings and chestguard--boots, bracers and gauntlets in a careless pile near the door, belt with her sabers clipped to it hanging from a hook on the wall--and is kneeling by the wall in a meditation pose, bare feet tucked under her, hands on her knees. 

Scourge sits on the end of the bed and starts removing his own armor, reaching out through the Force to brush against her mind. She's calm enough on the surface, but the deeper peace she's reaching for still eludes her, and eventually she sighs and gets to her feet.

He watches her, knowing she can feel the weight of his gaze, and waits for her to glance over at him inquisitively. 

When she does he says, calmly, "Turn around and place your hands on the wall."

She arches a perfect eyebrow at him. "What was that?"

Scourge stand and walks toward her, closing the distance between them with quick, purposeful steps and forcing her to tilt her chin up if she wants to maintain eye contact. "You heard me, Jedi," he tells her, putting just enough steel in his tone.

Green eyes stay locked onto his a moment longer before she turns, reaching out to brace both palms against the cabin wall. Her body is tensed as if for a duel, but the very fact that she obeys his command speaks volumes. In over three hundred years, Scourge has never met anyone who possesses such indomitable will as his Jedi. That makes it all the more frustrating when she bows to the whims of the fools who control her Republic, but also makes it all the more delicious when she's game for scenarios like this one.

He moves in close behind her and settles one ungloved hand on the curve of her waist. Tense as she is, she starts a little at the contact, drawing in a sharp breath, and he lets out a soft hum, as if she were some wild creature he sought to tame.

"It's just the two of us now, Jedi," he murmurs, bringing his mouth close to her ear. "No need for a show of resistance."

Through the Force, he can feel her pulse racing, feel the deep, insistent current of her desire, but when she speaks, her voice is steady. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sith."

"Don't you?" He trails his fingertips along the expanse of skin revealed by the absurd midriff-baring armor she favors so often. He'd challenged her about that once, not understanding why she would choose to go into battle with so much exposed skin, rather than in one of her several more practical chestguards. 

Tig had just grinned at him, showing her teeth. "Exposed skin doesn't matter much if no one manages to land a blow on me, does it?"

"And if they do manage it?"

"Then I know my defensive skills need some work."

Scourge has his doubts about her logic, but he can't deny that for all the battles they've been in, she bears only a scant handful of scars, the rest of her skin smooth and unblemished, soft as shadowsilk.

He wraps one arm around her chest, his other hand pressing against the flat of her stomach and sliding down. She's trembling against him as he slips his fingers past the waistband of her leggings, just far enough to brush against the fine, downy hair at the apex of her thighs. 

"Look at you," he says in a low voice. "Trembling with need, and yet you won't admit how badly you crave this. I would admire your resolve, were it not so foolish to deny yourself the pleasure you know I can give you."

"Yeah?" Tig leans back against him, letting her head loll to the side. "I suppose you think you're the one to help me let go of my inhibitions?"

Scourge lowers his mouth to her neck but stops just shy of kissing it, delighting in her shiver as his breath ghosts over her skin. "Who better than a Sith to school a Jedi in indulging her passions?"

Her whole body is alive with desire, _aching_ with it--he can feel that as clearly as he feels his own, his cock hardening with every tiny movement she makes. It takes a moment for her to answer, and when she does there's a slight tremor in her carefully measured tone.

"I haven't been anyone's student in a long time. Whatever you're driving at here, get to the point."

"Very well." One hand still resting on her lower belly, he brings the other up to encircle her throat and pulls her body flush against his, earning another sharply caught breath. Mouth right against the shell of her ear, he says, "I'm going to take you right here, against this wall. But not until you beg me for it."

"That's not going to happen," she says, voice still remarkably steady given the way her pulse skitters and jumps under his hand. "At least, not the second part."

"No?" he asks silkily, thumb caressing the side of her neck.

"No," she replies, as if her eyes weren't fluttering closed as she presses back against his chest. "You can do what you like with my body, Sith, but you can't make me give in."

"Was that an invitation?" he murmurs, and slides the hand on her belly further down.

She's wet enough to have soaked a damp patch into the front of her undergarments, and it's wonderfully easy to slide two fingers into her. The moan she lets out at that is deliciously wanton, and he grins to himself before nuzzling at the back of her neck, pressing a kiss to the space behind her ear. He crooks his fingers upward, sliding them further into her tight heat, brings his thumb down to seek out her clit and press against it, circling slowly.

Tig's hands are still pressed against the wall, the muscles in her arms beginning to shake with the effort of both staying in one position so long and maintaining at least a semblance of control. As another moan breaks free from her, she drops her head, pressing her face into her bicep in an effort to muffle the sounds he's pulling from her.

"Ah, ah." The hand on her neck shifts, fingers pressing under her chin to force her head back up. "I want to hear you, Jedi. Every helpless noise of pleasure. I want to hear the moment you break and give in to me."

"I don't break," she says through her teeth, even as she presses herself into his hands. "You should know that by now."

"We'll see."

He strokes her until she's just about to come, using their connection through the Force and his intimate knowledge of her body to know when she's poised on the brink of release, and then backs her down from it, stilling the movement of his hand between her legs and holding her firmly in place when she tries to grind against him. He draws the moment out, lets her frustration build, then goes back to circling her clit with his thumb, quickly bringing her back to the edge--and then stopping again.

She writhes against his hold on her, gasps for breath, curls her hands into fists against the wall. She cries out, voice rising to a frantic pitch, until he covers her mouth with his hand (the walls on this ship are thicker than many, designed for its Jedi passengers to meditate in silence or hone their dueling skills without disturbing their crewmates, but better safe than sorry), and then she bites his fingers, the sudden sharp pain making him hiss and bite her ear in retaliation. But even when he has her shaking and desperate in his hands, her body sparking like a live wire, there are no admissions of defeat, no pleas for him to end the torment and take her, give her the release they both want so badly. 

He stops, finally, slips his fingers out (not missing her tiny whimper of relief, loss, or some combination of the two) and wraps his arm around her waist instead. Tig leans her head against her outstretched arm again, catching her breath, and he kisses the back of her neck and presses his face into her dark hair, holding her as she sags against him.

"I may," he says at length, "have underestimated your resolve, Jedi."

"You wouldn't--" she stops for a moment, panting. "Wouldn't be the first."

Scourge turns her around and presses her back to the wall instead, bending to bring his mouth to hers. She lowers her arms with a grateful sigh and turns her face up to his, and he kisses her slowly and thoroughly.

He draws back to look at her, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "Of course, this doesn't mean I'm not still going to have you."

She bites her lower lip, white teeth against full, lush red, and looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

His hands are in motion before she even finishes speaking, tearing at her clothing, then his own. She lifts her hands to help, but he grabs her wrists and pins them back against the wall with a growl, and she holds still and lets him work. Her ridiculous chestguard falls to the ground, followed by his undertunic. He gets her leggings off and his trousers down, if not off entirely, and that's going to have to do because they've drawn this out long enough and he _needs_ to be inside her.

He grasps her about the middle and lifts her easily, bracing her against the wall. She hooks her legs around his waist, and he frees a hand to reach down and position his cock before sliding into her, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid thrust.

She's still sensitive and overstimulated from earlier, and she buries a scream in the curve of his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders. Scourge wraps one arm securely around her back, turning his head to kiss the side of her face. He works his other hand between them to cup one of her breasts, rubbing his thumb over the nipple until it's a stiff peak. He pulls out halfway and then slides back in, slamming his hips against hers and savoring her answering moan.

Still grasping his shoulders and tightening her legs around him, she throws her head back, exposing her throat like an offering. He plants a line of biting kisses down the side of her neck, his hand shielding the back of her head as he fucks her hard enough to send her back into the wall with every thrust.

He can feel her pleasure cresting like a wave, feel her limbs tightening around him and her breath coming in shallow gasps, and this time he doesn't pull her back from the edge. One more thrust, one more scrape of teeth on the tender skin of her throat, and she tumbles over with a breathless, broken cry, gripping him hard enough to bruise and shaking like she's going to fly apart. He slows his movements and just holds her until she stops shuddering, then braces a forearm against the wall and puts his head down, pressing his face against her collarbone. A few more quick thrusts and he's coming hard, muffling a shout against her skin as he spills into her.

They sink back against the wall together, both of them panting as if they've just spent hours sparring. Tig puts a hand on the back of Scourge's neck and he lifts his head for a long, slow kiss.

" _Stars_ ," she exhales when the kiss breaks, her forehead bumping against his. "How'd you know that was exactly what I needed?"

He lifts a hand to caress the lines of her face, looking up at her with a small smile. "I know you."

She leans in for another brief kiss, then unhooks her legs from around his waist, letting out a small hiss as his cock slides out of her. Scourge holds her by the hips and gently sets her back on her feet, where she leans against him bonelessly.

"You'd better be planning on carrying me to bed," she mumbles into his chest. "New rule: you fuck me silly against the wall, you carry me to bed."

Scourge laughs and kisses the top of her head before sweeping her up in his arms. "I'll bear that in mind for next time."


End file.
